


If Only

by winterune



Series: Daybreakers 2020 [2]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst, Canon Related, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Family Issues, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Origin Story, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:46:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23110414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterune/pseuds/winterune
Summary: They were at it again—his parents. Fighting. Screaming. He could still hear it, even when he had put his headphones on and blasted music into his ear, trying and failing to study whatever it was he was supposed to study.(A brief look into Ren's origin story before the incident with Shido)
Relationships: Amamiya Ren & Amamiya Ren's Parents, Persona 5 Protagonist & Persona 5 Protagonist's Parents
Series: Daybreakers 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1661095
Comments: 4
Kudos: 58





	If Only

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr for the Daybreakers Month fandom event.  
> Week 1 Prompt: Origin - Character: Ren Amamiya/Protagonist
> 
> This is a snippet of a headcanon of mine about Ren's origin (which is probably inspired by other headcanons?) that I have yet to write (I WILL! I just need to sit down and commit myself to write the probably-multi-chapter fic). Ren comes from a well-off, yet dysfunctional family, and he feels trapped and suffocated by his father's expectations and demands. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :)

They were at it again—his parents. Fighting. Screaming. He could still hear it, even when he had put his headphones on and blasted music into his ear, trying and failing to study whatever it was he was supposed to study. The lines were blurring. He was tired. Maybe he should stop. He already had cram school. His homework was finished. There were no tests whatsoever for the coming month or so. And yet…

Ren would rather not have his father open that door and find him “slacking off”, as his father would say. Because no, not even Ren being a top scorer was enough for him.

The little stunt he had pulled back in middle school didn’t help. OK, yes, it did help him gain his father’s attention. The first place Ren had maintained all throughout his three years of middle school had suddenly dropped, and Ren had to admit that it had been his first time seeing his father truly angry. On one hand, Ren had felt some sort of achievement that he had managed to make his father actually _look_ at him. On another hand, his cheek still smarted sometimes from the ghost of an impact his father’s hand had made with it.

The screaming from downstairs intensified. Ren’s fingers stilled and he shut his eyes. They had been going at it for a while now. Either it was the work, the house, or the family. Mostly the family—his mother’s family, his father’s family, _this_ family. It wouldn’t be the first time to hear his father blaming his mother for whatever it was he thought Ren was lacking. Not that Ren hadn’t done everything he could think of to prove himself to his father that he wasn’t a failure: perfect test scores, top place at school, a teacher’s pet. He had even skipped out on several school events because his father had said they were a waste of time. His father had even gotten him out of the club he had been in middle school—that, or he would have gotten the club disbanded because Ren’s grades had dropped, which, really, hadn’t been the club’s fault at all.

Ren heard something shattering.

His eyes flew open. Taking his headphones off, Ren rushed out his room then down the stairs.

“Mom?” he called, alarmed.

He wouldn’t usually do this. He would never have interrupted them in the middle of their fight. Most of the time, when the fighting got too intense, he would just quietly go outside, find somewhere he could stay for a while—usually the park—have a drink he’d bought at a store or just sit down on the bench or the swings. Then, after some time had passed and he knew the fighting had to have ended, he would go back inside the house and find his mother sitting in the living room, staring vacantly ahead. Her body would jerk to attention when she heard the door close, and she would look up, and Ren would see this utter defeated, anguished look on her face—one she would always try to hide behind a smile. No matter what she was feeling, she would always smile in front of him, and it always hurt him seeing her like that.

Just once—just _once_ he wanted to stand up against his father and tell him to leave his mother alone. Because no, it wasn’t her fault that Ren got bad grades. It wasn’t her fault that Ren could never live up to his expectations. It wasn’t her fault that he was stuck as some local government assembly with no chances of ever winning an election, because there would always be someone better than him.

He found his mother in the kitchen, her hand bleeding. Shards of glass were scattered around the floor. His father was just standing there, still in his suit, having just gotten home.

“Mom!” he shouted, aghast at what he saw.

“Careful, Ren!”

He was being careful as he rushed toward her. His mother needn’t worry about him. _She’s_ the one who was hurt; several pieces of the shards had gotten stuck to her hand.

Gingerly holding her hand steady, Ren led his mother to the sink, where he carefully washed away the shards from the wound. They weren’t deep, not from his vantage point at least. But, just to be sure—

“Let’s get you to the hospital,” he said.

But his mother was already shaking her head, as though she had already read his mind. “It’s just a little cut.”

Ren tightened his grip on her hand. “Please, mom,” he begged. _Please let me do this. Just this once. Let me help you._

Ren wondered if his unsaid pleas reached her. Maybe it did, because whatever she saw in his eyes finally made her relent, and she sighed and nodded. Ren beamed, then turned his attention to his father, who was still scowling by the doorway. He gritted his teeth and set his jaws, staring hard at his father’s eyes. If he wasn’t going to take them, then Ren would find other ways.

However, his father sighed, as loud as he could, through his nose. “I’ll get the keys,” was all he said before turning around and disappearing through the doorway.

* * *

There hadn’t been anything to worry about, the doctor said. It was only a little cut. His mother gave him that look that basically said, _I told you so_. She had had basic medical teaching growing up, what’s with her family owning a large hospital in the city. Maybe Ren should have listened to her, but he knew that wouldn’t ease the guilt he always felt whenever he looked at her. At least now, he had done _something_.

His father didn’t say anything—didn’t even offer an apology. The car was quiet to-and-fro the hospital, the air so thick he could have cut it with a knife. Even when they reached their home, his father still didn’t utter a single word. Ren watched silently as his father entered the house without looking back—those broad shoulders of his still an imposing sight, even when Ren was already fifteen, going on sixteen, and had gotten taller than his mother.

Ren stood in front of the house, finding himself curling his fingers into fists, glaring at the now-empty doorway

 _Why didn’t his father say anything?!_ He thought. _He hasn’t even said sorry! Isn’t that what people normally do when they’ve hurt someone?! Apologize?!_

“Ren,” his mother’s quiet voice interrupted his thoughts. She was standing in the doorway, looking at him. “Let’s get inside,” she said. “It’s cold out.”

It _was_ cold, but the coldness he felt was more than just the late autumn air prickling his bones. This house—this… _prison_. Would it be possible to take his mother away and leave it? He would rather not leave her alone with that sociopath.

“Ren,” his mother softly called him again.

Ren took a deep breath, trying to soothe that bubbling anger. He slowly uncurled his fingers and followed his mother inside.

His mother led him to the kitchen, where Ren stopped her from cleaning up the shattered glass and told her to sit. “I’ll do it,” he said. It was the least he could do for her. So, he quietly grabbed the broom and a dustpan from the storage and began sweeping the glass shards quietly.

“Do you want something to drink?” his mother asked, trying to break the silence.

“I’m all right,” Ren replied. Then he looked up. “Do you want to, mom? I’ll make you something.”

That elicited a small chuckle from his mother. “I can still move, Ren. I’m not an invalid.”

Ren paused. “I didn’t—”

His mother laughed again. “Finish that up, then we’ll have a drink together.”

Ren pursed his lips but forced himself to nod. He finished sweeping the glass shards, then threw everything in the trash can, returning the broom and dustpan to its place, before joining his mother at the kitchen counter, where she was making both of them hot chocolate.

Ren took a seat by the counter and quietly sipped at his drink. Several silent moments passed before his mother finally spoke, and it wasn’t about anything at all. She talked about the weather, how it was too cold for autumn, even though winter was still over a month away. She asked about his school and the cultural festival they just held. She talked about the charity events she was going to hold or the flowers she would need for her flower arranging activities.

Ren watched at how animated his mother looked as she talked, as though the fight with his father hadn’t happened and her hand wasn’t full of small cuts. _How do you do it_ , he wanted to ask, feeling his anger start to rear its head again. _How do you endure this?_

His parents had been living together for over sixteen years, and ever since he could remember, seeing or hearing them fight was just an everyday thing. It had gotten to the point where Ren would wonder if either his mother or father would just up and leave him one day. But they never did. They stayed together for reasons he could never comprehend.

Ren stared at his mother’s bandaged hand—a clean white gauze circling the parts that were cut. _Shallow cuts_ , the doctor had said. _Nothing to worry about_. His mother had told the doctor that she had broken a glass when she was doing the dishes. Of course he hadn’t understood that it _was_ something to worry about. He didn’t know that it was Ren’s father who had thrown the glass at her. Her delicate hand that she used to arrange beautiful flowers in her studio, the one that could wipe away any tear or sadness he had ever felt—it was cut and bleeding and Ren hadn’t done anything to stop it.

He curled his fingers around his glass and gritted his teeth as tears blurred his vision. If only he were stronger—

“Ren.” His mother’s soft voice interrupted his train of thoughts. Her warm hands were on his. He slowly looked up and the small smile on his mother’s face made his fingers twitch painfully, his heart clenching tight.

She didn’t need any words. He knew what she was trying to say. _It’s not your fault._

But she was wrong. If Ren were stronger, and kinder, and braver, he might have been able to protect her from his father.

**~ END ~**

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it :D Please leave a comment or two if you like, I would love to know what you think :) Thanks!!


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